


Mirror-and-Steve Boy!

by elumish



Series: Mirror-and-Steve Boy [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elumish/pseuds/elumish
Summary: “Get the kid out of here, please. I really don’t want Cap’s kid dying in my lab. And Robocop’s kid, too. Birdbrain and Birdbrain number two, get him out of here.”





	

“Wait.” Half of the room looks up at Stiles, and yeah, he probably shouldn’t have sounded so alarmed in a room full of people with guns and stuff. “Where did my mitochondria come from?”

Captain America and the Winter Soldier look confused, and everyone looks at Stark, so Stiles does too. A second later, Stark looks up from his tablet, blinking at them. “What? Oh, mitochondria. That’s not really my area of specialty. You’d be better off asking Brucy-poo.”

Barton scowls at them from where he’s sitting on top of a table. “Anyone want to explain what you’re talking about for those of us who didn’t go to high school?”

Stark is back to fiddling with his tablet and nobody else looks like they’re going to answer, so Stiles says, “Mitochondria are a thing in cells, and the important part for my question is that they’re passed down through the mother’s line. So, I mean, I got them from my mother, because I must have, because I would be dead without them, but where did she get them from, if she had two biological fathers and no biological mother?”

Barton stares at him for a second, then looks at Stark. “This is why my job is just to shoot people and fly shit.”

Stark makes a disconcerting ‘hmm’ing noise at his tablet, looking up at the Winter Soldier and Captain America. “There’s a thing in your arm that I at least would like to not be in your arm.”

Captain America looks like he’s barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “What is it?”

“It’s—I don’t want to call it an explosive, because that would be imprecise, but it’s—well, it might blow up.”

Sam laughs, though it’s more of an Allison shit’s-about-to-go-down—and wow, he misses her—laugh. “I would call that an explosive.”

“Yeah, well.” Stark strides towards the Winter Soldier. “Get the kid out of here, please. I really don’t want Cap’s kid dying in my lab. And Robocop’s kid, too. Birdbrain and Birdbrain number two, get him out of here.”

Sam heads over to Stiles, touching his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Stiles kind of wants to know what the hell is going on, but he also doesn’t want to be blown up, so he follows Sam and Barton out of the lab. Black Widow stays, saying something in Russian too low and fast for Stiles to follow.

The door shuts behind him, and Barton says, “JARVIS, where can be grab something to eat?”

The walls announce, “There is a mini-kitchen down the hall and to the left with a fully stocked bar, as well as coffee.”

“Thanks. Can you invite Bruce up, too?”

“Certainly.”

Sam looks at Barton. “I don’t know how that doesn’t freak you out.”

“Can’t he still hear us?” They both look at Stiles. “I mean, if he has microphones here, can’t he still hear us?” He glances as the ceiling. “Can’t you?”

“Indeed I can,” the walls announce, “but my programming allows me to determine whether what is being spoken or signed requires my attention, and otherwise the information is simply cataloged and stored.”

That’s creepy, though amazingly impressive. “Cool.” He looks at Sam. “I assume you all won’t let me get wasted.”

Sam snorts. “No chance.”

“Even though I just found out I’m descended from Captain America and the guy who fucked up DC?”

“Especially because of that. Also, you’re seventeen, and we need to return you to your father in a bit. Given that we basically kidnapped you and will never leave you alone again, not pissing him off seems optimal.”

Right. Fuck. Good point. “Fine. I’m—how am I supposed to tell my dad? Not that they’re his parents, but—Jesus, Captain America is my grandfather and looks like he’s, like, thirty, max. And there’s also the other guy. What am I supposed to call him, anyway? The Winter Soldier is kind of a mouthful.”

Sam shrugs. “Hell if I know. It’s not like he’s said it. Or much of anything.”

They get to the “mini-kitchen”, which is probably bigger than Stiles’s entire kitchen, and Barton heads over to the kitchen, pulling it open. “You want soda or…wow, this is a lot of alcohol, even for Stark. Okay. I guess your option is soda. Or water.”

Stiles takes a seat on one of the bar chairs at the island. “Water’s fine. I mean, I’m fine. I don’t need anything.” Except maybe some curly fries. He would kill for curly fries right now, not that he’s going to ask for them here. “So, um, I am going to need to get back home eventually, and you made some comment about never leaving me alone again, so is that going to be a problem? I mean, if we just don’t tell anyone whose grandkid I am, I shouldn’t be more of a target.”

Barton looks out from behind the fridge door at him. “More of a target?”

“My life is…” He see-saws his hand back and forth. “Complicated.”

“Does this have to do with the torture comment you made earlier?”

Stiles looks over at Sam, who’s examining him with purposefully casual interest. “Sort of. That guy’s gone, but there are people like him, and…look, it’s really complicated. And I probably shouldn’t have actually—it wasn’t really torture. There wasn’t any waterboarding or whatever, which was…good. Anyway, my real point was actually that, well, the Winter Soldier—whatever I’m supposed to call him—stalked me and killed anyone who went after me, which was nice, but is he going to let me go back home?”

Sam opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again to say, “That’s a good question. We’ll have to have that conversation once Stark is done.”

“If the answer’s that he’s not going to be okay with it, I still need to be able to go home. And my friends didn’t stop me from coming with you guys, but they’re not going to care that it’s Tony Stark or Captain America if you try to keep me here. And I’m going to be honest, you guys against them, it’s mostly just going to go to hell, and I would really like to not be caught in the middle of that.”

Barton grins at him. “We have a Hulk.”

They have a bunch of little Hulks, though Stiles isn’t going to say that. “Do you really want to have the Hulk rampaging through NorCal? Because I can’t see that playing well on CNN.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Dr. Banner says from behind them, and Stiles spins around, not really hiding his flinch well enough, given how Sam and Dr. Banner eye him. “Sorry for frightening you.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m a little jumpy.”

Sam looks at him. “Have you ever considered therapy?”

“You mean for my rampant untreated PTSD? Yeah, no, that wouldn’t go so well. Didn’t go so well.” He cracks the top and takes a drink of the water bottle Barton set down on the table near him. “Can we stop talking about this? Also what’s the likelihood the Winter Soldier—whatever I’m supposed to call him—exploding? Because this is a cool house, but I have a feeling it won’t do to well with a bomb going off.”

“The workroom has safeguards in case of explosions,” JARVIS says from the ceiling. And possibly also the refrigerator. The AI house is awesome.

Sam says, “Now might be a good time for you to call your father. Things might get complicated once Stark is done.”

Right. Stiles pulls his phone out, calling his dad and then heading over to the corner of the room so he can pretend to have privacy. Of course, he’s in an AI house, so privacy is not really a thing. He pats the wall. It’s not the house’s fault.

His dad picks up almost immediately. “Stiles? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He opens his mouth, then realizes he genuinely has no idea how to say this and closes it. “Uh, we need to talk.”

“What did you do?”

“Why do you immediately think it’s my fault?”

“You went looking for half of a dead body in the forest and _found it_. Why do you think I think it’s your fault?”

Stiles makes a face. “To be fair, I was young and stupid back them.” His dad chokes down a laugh. “Anyway, this is demonstrably not my fault.” In hindsight, this is probably a conversation better had in person, but also probably a conversation better had sooner rather than later, so…now it is. “What do you know about Mom’s parents?”

His dad is silent for a moment, probably mostly because they never talk about his mom. She’s probably been brought up less than half a dozen times since she died, and most of those were when his dad had a least a little alcohol in his system. “I never met them. As far as I know they died when she was a baby, and she was adopted by a man and a woman who moved to the States. They died a few months before I met her.”

“Were they Russian? Her adoptive parents. Or her biological parents, I guess.”

“Soviet, yes. Romanian, I think. Why are you interrogating me about her parents?”

Stiles finds himself stroking the wall for comfort, because this is about to be a fucking disaster. “So…I just met them. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Stiles,” his dad says, and it’s the ‘my son’s brain may be broken’ voice. “They’re dead.”

“Apparently not.”

“Stiles—”

There’s no way this conversation is going to go well. Or, really, go anywhere. “Do you want to talk to a real adult who can confirm this?”

“Please.”

Stiles turns and holds his phone out to Dr. Banner, who’s watching him with Sam and Barton. “Can you tell my dad about what we found out?”

Dr. Banner walks over and takes the phone from him. “Mr. Stilinski? My name is Dr. Bruce Banner.” He’s silent for a second. “Yes, that Bruce Banner. I have a doctorate rather than a medical degree, but I was able to draw blood from your son and compare it to the two blood samples we have here; I found that they were a match.” He hesitates, then looks at Stiles. “The samples were from Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.”

He’s silent for another moment, then hands the phone back to Stiles, who sticks it up to his ear. “Uh—”

“Tell me this is a joke.”

“Um. No?”

“You do realize that one of those people has been dead for seventy years.”

Stiles grimaces at Dr. Banner, mainly because he’s the nearest non-wall person. “So apparently the Winter Soldier—”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“This is starting to become genuinely not funny, Stiles.”

Yeah, that’s true. “Check with Scott if you don’t believe me that I’m with Captain America and the Winter Soldier and…virtually all of the rest of the Avengers, and wow, I just said that out loud. Actually, check with Lydia, you’re more likely to believe her.”

“I’m going to need to—you need to come home. Now. We can talk about this then.”

“That might be…complicated.”

His dad sighs. “What now?”

“Remember all of the people who kept showing up dead? I mean the recent people, not the…other people. The ones with the metal arm killings?” His dad exhales a soft swear. “Yeah. So that was…the guy with a metal arm. Who was doing it to protect me. So the likelihood of them letting me go back to Beacon Hills alone is—” Sam shakes his head. “I’m just getting a headshake, which is a bad sign. Can you…come here?” He looks at Sam, who seems vaguely nominally in charge. “Can he come here?”

Sam nods. “Stark should be fine with it.”

“Should I wait for him to confirm it?”

“Nah,” Barton says. “Stark believes in the more, the merrier.”

“Okay,” Stiles isn’t the phone. “They’re saying you can come here. I guess someone would have to get you or something, unless they’ll give me an address to give you, which is…getting another headshake, so I guess that’s a no.”

There’s a pause, and then his dad says, “They really think Captain America and Bucky Barnes are your…your grandparents?”

“Yeah.”

“And that Bucky Barnes wants to keep you safe?”

“Apparently.”

“Well, I don’t like how he’s going about it, but I’ll take what I can get if I keeps you safe from the lunacy in this town.” A laugh slips out, and his dad demands, “What?”

“Lunacy. They’re—” He can’t say werewolves in front of all of these people, even though they already kind of let it slip in the forest. “They’re moon people and you’re talking about lunacy. Like, the moon makes them crazy.” He laughs again.

His dad sighs. “Have them send someone to come get me.”

\--

Someone apparently named Happy is sent to pick up his dad, and Stark is still trying to get the non-explosive explosive or whatever it is out of the Winter Soldier’s arm, so Stiles just grabs his water bottle and finds a couch that looks like it’s new enough probably nobody has had sex on it. He jams himself into one corner, pulling his legs up and resting the water bottle between his thighs and his chest.

Sam sits in a chair across from him, Barton perching on a counter. Dr. Banner goes off to do…something, Stiles isn’t really sure what.

“How are you doing?”

Stiles grimaces at Sam. “Would you want the Winter Soldier as your grandfather?”

“Hell, no. There’s no way I’m getting this chocolate color from him.”

That pulls out a smile, or an attempt at one. “I know people who have killed people. But he’s…he shot Captain America.” Stiles remembers something. “Actually, what’s up with that? I know the whole genetic combining thing was done in a test tube, but it seems like they…did some non-test tube combining. Or wanted to, at least. Because I, at least, tend not to look at people who shot at me like that.”

“Who shot at you?”

Stiles waves a dismissive hand. “That’s neither here nor there. I think our scary possibly-Soviet friend down there killed the most recent one, anyway. The…male possible Soviet, not the female possible Soviet, and wow, that is not a distinction I thought I would ever have to make. But _anyway_ , back on track, were my biological granddads banging back in the way?” He thinks for a second. “Also not a question I ever thought I would have to ask.”

“I know as much as you do.” Stiles gives him a flat look, and he shrugs. “More or less.”

“How about you, Hawkeye? What do you think?”

“I think you’ve spent a lot of effort trying not to answer questions about who is a threat to you.”

Stiles squeezes the water bottle until it creaks in his hand. “That’s because it’s unimportant and not really relevant at the moment. And a lot of it isn’t my secret to tell.”

Barton’s eyes narrow. “Would you prefer Barnes go on a rampage every time you’re put in danger?”

“Well, to be honest, him killing anyone who wants to hurt me is kind of nice.” Which is apparently not the answer he was supposed to give, given the look on Barton’s face. “Anyway.”

Sam laughs. “To get us to stop talking about potential massacres, why don’t you tell us about your life? Considering that we’re probably going to be spending a decent amount of time together. Assuming you’re planning on accepting them into your life.”

Stiles looks at him. “I wasn’t aware I had a choice in the matter.”

“Cap is pretty good about stuff like that, about respecting people’s choices.” Barton snorts. “Other than people named Bucky Barnes.”

“I—I mean I’m the only family they have, right? Says the person who read too much about Bucky Barnes growing up. I can’t just…walk away. Also I get the impression they wouldn’t let me just walk away.”

“They would let you walk away and just spy on you from afar for the rest of your life.”

Stiles cringes. “That sounds wholly unappealing. Being stalked by Stark-bots and a kind of crazy maybe-Soviet is not actually my idea of a good time.”

“I’d just be resigned to that at this point. This real question is whether or not you want to actually get to know them.”

Right. That’s…not something Stiles particularly wants to think about right now, not before he talks to his dad, so he just shrugs and goes back to fiddling with his water bottle. Sam and Barton eye him, but they don’t say anything else.

Eventually he pulls out his phone and texts Scott to tell him that everything’s okay and that he’ll explain later, mostly because this is not a good conversation to have over text message. He also trusts Scott to spread the ‘all good now’ message to the rest of the pack.

At some point, JARVIS announces, “Mr. Stilinski and Ms. Martin have arrived.”

Stiles sits up, dropping his feet down on the floor. “What’s Lydia doing here?” He looks at Sam. “She’s the redhead from the forest.”

“Your girlfriend?”

Stiles laughs. “In my dreams. No, she’s just a friend. Uh, JARVIS, can you tell them to come here?”

“They are being directed to your location.”

“Thanks.” Stiles stands, drumming his fingers on his legs, suddenly nervous. This whole thing has been like a bizarre dream, not really real, but his dad is here which means it’s about to become real.

A minute later the door opens and his dad walks through, Lydia following behind him. His dad looks at him. He looks back. Yeah, there’s a lecture coming on not going with strangers once they’re out of this disaster.

Before his dad can say anything, Stark appears behind him, announcing, “The bomb’s defused, and I didn’t even need to take apart his arm to do it.”

Stiles sighs. This is going to be a long day.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been posted! I was finally just like, screw it, and wrote the rest of this. There will theoretically be more eventually.


End file.
